


The Night Before Halloween

by Savva



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Romance, Sexual Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-30
Updated: 2012-10-30
Packaged: 2017-11-17 09:53:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/550297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Savva/pseuds/Savva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the night before Halloween, the old Manor isn’t the right place for the young Malfoy wife. Or is it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Night Before Halloween

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written for Tyche's October Challenge over at the Maple Bookshelf. I had altered the prompt slightly: Just because you can't touch us doesn't mean we can't feel you!
> 
> I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters; J. K. Rowling does. In addition, I do not make any profit from this fanfiction.
> 
> Huge thank you to my alpha reader Quilter, who once again managed to organize my naughty thoughts into a story! Thank you to my beta Dany.

 

**The Night Before Halloween**

 

It was well after nine o'clock in the evening when Hermione received a short missive from her husband of three months.

 

_Don't wait for me, babe. Potter and I are still pretty tied up. Go home, kitten. I'll make it up to you as soon as I get to the Manor, I promise. Keep the bed warm for me, witch._

 

_Draco_

 

Hermione read the note and sighed. Frowning and slightly pouting her lips in discontent, she put the parchment in her purse, cast a quick glance at the clock, and reluctantly stood up. After another heavy sigh, she proceeded with the cleaning of her desk. That task didn't take her long, and after three minutes or so she was ready to go. She slowly walked across her office, took her coat from the wooden coatrack in the corner, threw it on, and left, turning the light off with a quick flick of her wand.

 

The corridors of the Ministry were completely deserted, of course. _Normal people are already home with their families at this hour_ , the witch thought grudgingly. In her gloomy mood, even the usual grey shadows in the corners seemed darker, somehow. The sound of her hurried steps resonated through the empty halls ominously, causing her heart to skip a few beats and then restart in an irregular tempo. She shrugged her shoulders and mocked herself, trying to shake off the eerie feeling that had crept under her skin. However, when she turned round the corner to enter a wide but dimly-lit foyer, and a wickedly carved pumpkin suddenly popped out right in front of her face, she jumped and shrieked as her hand flew to her chest. "Stupid decorations!" she muttered irritably, realising that it was just a Halloween ornament, and stomped toward the Apparition point. An angry pop sounded a few seconds later, signalling that she had left the building.

 

Still flustered, she reappeared in front of an old gate. She touched a metal handle and the iron monstrosity opened with a creepy, metallic squeal, creating a narrow rift just enough for her to slither through. The moment she was inside, the gate slammed shut behind her, and she began walking briskly to the front entrance of the Manor, apprehensively listening to the distant croaking of crows. 

 

The night was cold and tempestuous. Heavy, bloody in the sunset, the October sky loomed low over the Manor, giving its silhouette a sinister appearance. Stormy gusts attacked the witch ferociously, trying to get under her coat and biting into her bones with a late-autumn chill. Shivering, she wrapped her woollen coat tighter around herself and sped up toward the Manor. As if in response, the wind emitted a loud howl and threw long-dead, dry, wrinkly brown leaves in her face, forcing her to close her eyes and cover her face with her hands. Literally fighting for her every step and unable to draw her breath, she stubbornly continued to her destination.

 

When she eventually reached the house, the huge oak door swung open with a creak and swallowed her slender figure in one gulp. The moment she disappeared, a raven perched itself on the post of the gas-lamp nearby, and, peering intently at the closed door, emitted six piercing caws. The shrill sound rolled over the grounds of the Manor, until it died out somewhere far away in the marshes.

 

Once inside, Hermione let out the breath she had been holding and began to unbutton her coat, walking through the dimly-lit hall. The room was absolutely still and quiet, and she almost screamed again, when a dark shadow suddenly surfaced before her. However, the familiar velvety drawl that followed instantly calmed her down. "Why you insist on walking in such dreadful weather is beyond me, darling. Here, take a sip. It will warm you up," said the older Malfoy as he stepped into the light.

 

Hermione smiled at her father-in-law, shrugged the coat from her shoulders, and took a crystal goblet with cherry brandy in it. "You know why, Lucius. I try to have a walk at least once a day. It's my only exercise. Plus, I need a fresh air. I spend entirely too much time trapped inside the Ministry as it is," she said, and took a little sip of the viscous, dark crimson liquid in the glass.

 

"That you do, darling, that you do," agreed Lucius, fixing his eyes on a tiny droplet of brandy on Hermione's lower lip. The tiny blood-red bead, which glistened with unnatural brightness in the flickering light of a gas-lamp, obviously bothered him, because, the next instant, he stepped closer and dabbed it from the witch's lip with one swoosh of his thumb. "That brings us to the fact," he continued nonchalantly, wiping his hand with a white batiste handkerchief, "that you have absolutely no need for that. I know that shopping doesn't interest you, my dear daughter-in-law. However, there are many other things you can busy yourself with. For instance, you can spend your days tending to roses, or growing orchids in the orangery, if you like. Yet – quite stubbornly, I may note – you continue to work." Carefully tacking one of her curls behind her ear and slowly tracing his thumb along her jawline, he added, "No Lady Malfoy has ever worked."

 

"Oh, well, there is always a first time for everything, my dear father-in-law," Hermione rebuffed, as her cheeks grew warm.

 

"Headstrong little witch," muttered the blond wizard and drew back from her. "Narcissa and I have had dinner already, as our Lady Malfoy managed to tire herself out thoroughly with the preparations for the All Hallows Ball tomorrow. Therefore, you will have to dine alone tonight, my dear. It's a shame that my son deems it necessary to work even longer hours than you do. It is not wise of him, in my humble opinion, to leave his young wife alone, especially on the night before Halloween." Lucius' grey eyes slid over Hermione, lingering for a few long moments on her lightly heaving chest. Eventually returning his gaze to her face, he smirked and gave her a slight nod. "Good night, dear," he purred, and sauntered through the hallway toward his chamber.

 

"Good night." Hermione grimaced at Lucius' smirk, and, muttering, "Pretentious old peacock," scurried to the opposite hallway that led to her and Draco's quarters.

 

To be honest, she wasn't that angry with the older Malfoy. Frankly and quite surprisingly, they had got along rather well: aside from Lucius' wandering hands and continuous innuendoes of course. Although even those instances didn't bother her much, as she understood that the _white peacock_ simply couldn't help himself. The aging wizard desperately needed his daily dose of female admiration just to breathe right. And she wasn't opposed to giving it to him. It wasn't that hard to smile or blush once in a while, if it made the father of her beloved husband happy.

 

Just now, however, Lucius had hit the nail on the head with his comment about Draco's working far too much. It was hard to spend more hours at the Ministry than Hermione, and yet her husband managed to achieve just that, and with none other than her best friend, Harry bloody Potter! In Hermione’s opinion, _bizarre_ didn’t even cover the state of things. If anything, it was _highly suspicious_ at the very least.

 

Hermione sniffed. For weeks now, she had been concerned that Draco's long hours were somehow connected to her amateurishness during their private moments. To her, their sex was mind-blowing, and she truly and passionately loved her blond, tall, strapping, and literally all-over delicious husband. She was just a wee bit too shy to initiate those moments, and that fact worried her. Plus, Ginny had recently mentioned that men were very partial to women who were proactive and bold in bed. Ha! It was easy for Ginny to say. With all that Quidditch players around her, she had plenty of opportunities to practise. Hermione on the other hand, didn’t have any. Oh, but she really, _really_ wanted to be like that as well. She wanted to be seductive, daring, sensual, experienced. Hence, being Gryffindor through and through, she had decided to drop her coyness. Today!

 

Though it all had been planned before she received that blasted note from Draco. _Damn_ , she’d had such high hopes for tonight. Engulfed in thoughts, Hermione reached her quarters, where she was startled by an old elf, who appeared with her dinner on a tray and squeaked, "Wrinkly brings dinner for missus Hermione."

 

"Yes, Wrinkly, thank you. Just leave it there." Hermione waved toward the coffee table. The elf deftly served dinner on the table, bowed, and disappeared, leaving the witch alone with her heavy thoughts about intimacy, sensuality, and boldness in bed. Absentmindedly, she tossed her cashmere robes in the wardrobe, strode to the table, settled in a needlepoint armchair, and looked at her dinner. _Thank goodness for chocolate mousse_ , she thought, and began with dessert.

 

Two hours later, having eaten, bathed, and drunk a rather substantial amount of wine to boost her confidence, Hermione was clothed in a highly provocative, silk-and-lace peignoir and perched on the edge of the bed. Watching the hands of the clock pensively, she sighed: she was as ready as she could ever be, and her husband was nowhere to be seen. Bastard. After a few more uneventful minutes, she leaped from the bed with an exasperated "Aghhhh" and left the room, tramping determinedly in the direction of the Manor library.

 

She was well on her way when she heard the old clock in the grand hall chime. Her breath stopped short and her throat tightened uncomfortably. Even though she had lived in the Manor for three months now, she still couldn't get used to that eerie tolling, especially in the dead of night. She stubbornly continued her stroll to the library, trying her best to ignore her silly little heart that was beating faster and faster with each chime. When at last the blasted clock stopped after the twelfth chime, her heart was seemingly ready to jump out of her chest.

 

"Merlin," she muttered, "what is it with me today?"

 

The absolute silence that surrounded her didn't help her to calm down either. On the contrary, she unexpectedly and probably entirely unreasonably felt that someone was following her or, maybe, was waiting for her round the corner, ready to pounce. She span around, as the vein on her pulse point began to vibrate from tension and the hair on her nape stood on end. She saw no one, of course. However, as she continued her stroll through the Manor corridor, she thought that something cool had brushed over her shoulder, and then she heard a faint cackle, followed by a whispered "'ello, lassie." She froze and, shivering in a sudden chilly draught, listened carefully. When she didn't hear anything except the loud beating of her heart, she shook her head, muttered, "Definitely too much wine," and entered the library.

 

Alas, a moment later she was forced to reconsider as something flew past her, and the door behind her closed with a click. Six grey shadows suddenly appeared in front of the terrified witch, and she emitted a blood-curdling scream. Frantically, she tried to open the door, which didn't budge. Berating herself for not having taken her wand, she turned to face the shadows again. Glowing, icy eyes lit their pale, unearthly faces as they stretched their translucent, smoky hands toward her, muttering, "Ours, ours, ours," slowly creeping closer and closer. With her back pressed to the wall and feeling utterly helpless, she felt all her insides going cold. The last thing she heard was the scream of a banshee, which perhaps she had given herself, and a rustling "Hush, lassie, hush." Then six pairs of cold, damp hands grabbed her, snake-like fingers closed on her warm flesh, and the poor witch fainted.

 

When she came round, Hermione found herself reclining on the leather lounger. Surprisingly, she didn't feel chilly any more. It was quite the opposite, actually – she was very warm. Dozens of gentle, cool fingers were running up and down her body, caressing her with light and remarkably pleasurable touches.

 

"Such a delicious little titbit," whispered a voice near her ear, and she felt something wet tracing her earlobe.

 

"Narcissa, as I remember, wasn't half bad either, Brutus," rasped another voice, and someone gently parted her legs.

 

"For me, the Malfoy lassies have always been fine. I liked them all," yet another voice remarked.

 

“You mean, you licked them all,” someone commented from above her, accompanying it with a hissing laughter. A cool hand brushed over her nipple, and she gasped and tried to open her eyes, but a gentle touch on her eyelids stopped her. "Hush, sweetheart. You don't need to see us, poppet, just feel and let _us_ feel. Let the ol' Malfoys' ghosts pleasure you, gorgeous. We have only one night with each bride, and now it's yer turn, our muddy little witch."

 

The wrongness of the situation troubled her, but as she opened her mouth to protest, skilful fingers parted the outer lips of her pussy and cool tongues began lapping at her needy flesh with deftly precision. She moaned, “Oh, Merlin,” and clutched at the leather surface of the lounger. After that, the only thing she could do was to succumb to a maelstrom of sensations. Their fingers caressed and stroked and prodded. Their hair tickled, their tongues licked and their mouths sucked. With every passing minute and every touch, she felt the wave of ecstatic frenzy getting hotter and hotter, consuming her more and more, bringing her closer and closer to the brink. And, when delirious with her need to come, she was ready to burst, she heard Draco's voice calling, "Hermione!"

 

Her eyes flung open, the fingers that were stroking and touching her disappeared, and the door opened with a gentle squeak. "That's right, poppet. Go get your young Master now!" a voice rustled in her ear, and, with a soft chuckle, something nudged her from the lounger. The next moment, she saw her husband on the threshold. "Draco!" she screamed and flew into his arms.

 

"Missed me, kitten?" the blond wizard asked, obviously pleased by her enthusiastic greeting.

 

"You have no idea," Hermione rasped into his ear as she pressed him to the wall and aggressively attacked his lips. Her unexpectedly daring fingers made quick work of his fly, and she had his cock hard and ready in no time.

 

‘Kitten?!" gasped Draco, his expression a mixture of surprise and desire.

 

Hermione hummed and bit his earlobe impatiently.

 

"Bed! Now!" growled her husband, and the pair vanished into the thin air with a pop.

 

A while later, as the young lovers lay satiated and exhausted in their bed, still basking in their postcoital bliss, Draco heard a distant cackle reverberating from the depth of the Manor corridors. He turned to his young wife and asked, his voice slightly laced with wariness, "Did you hear that?"

 

Hermione blinked innocently at him and murmured, "Nope, didn't hear a thing."

 


End file.
